


Move Along Home

by entanglednow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-31
Updated: 2010-03-31
Packaged: 2017-10-14 16:05:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/151044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world doesn't end, but something's still missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Move Along Home

  
The world doesn't end.

After everything, all the pushing and running and fighting against their so-called inevitable fate. The world doesn't end. No one gets to have it. The angels don't get it. The demons don't get it. It belongs to humanity now.

But, if Dean’s honest with himself, which he’s trying to make a habit of now, he still doesn't entirely believe it.

Or at least his body doesn't. He's still waking up in the middle of the night with his guns out and his heart pounding. Stumbling to his feet, trying to find Sam. Only to end up standing in the middle of his motel room reminding himself that it's all okay. That there isn't anything trying to kill them. That there's nothing hunting them.

He'll have to put his guns away. But by then his heart will be thumping too quickly to sleep. He'll have to pull on his clothes and go out, walk to the nearest store and buy himself something, beer, scotch, a goddamn donut, something. Just to work off that flutter of almost disbelieving relief. Because they're safe. They're all safe.

His body never learns though. Caught on that loop and repeat. Like it knows something's not right. Like it knows something's missing. Dean thinks maybe he knows what that is.

It's the angel shaped hole in the room.

Because, Castiel was his. Between all the fighting and the death. Every time they came back alive. Every time they stepped back from the edge, against all odds Castiel was his. Something that started off with a bottle of scotch and a throat full of anger had become something a hell of a lot more than a habit. The slow steady decay of Castiel’s grace had left him needing something just as badly as Dean. It had been easy, far too easy, to need each other. Every single time.

But then the world hadn't ended and Dean hadn't needed him like that any more. He'd convinced himself that he couldn't need him like that any more. And, Castiel had stopped falling. So he hadn't needed Dean either.

Deans brain doesn't seem to have worked out the not needing part yet. But then at least he doesn’t dream about hell now.

This time it's different though. This time he wakes up in the dark and Castiel's there.

"Jesus," Dean has his hand halfway under the pillow before he works out that the shape at the end of the bed is not, in fact, a demon intent on slitting his throat.

"You've been dreaming." Castiel doesn’t add the 'about me' Dean figures that's pretty much a given. Cas never really did get the hang of starting a conversation gently, and he never got around to teaching him. Dean guesses he can file that away with all the things that aren’t important now.

He exhales and pushes a hand through his hair, stares at the ugly motel sheets.

"Yeah, well, adrenaline from the end of the world takes a while to wear off, y'know." He looks up. Which is a mistake because he got far too used to this. To the darkness of motel rooms and being awake in the middle of the night with his heart pounding and Cas, always Cas. Whenever they could.

Castiel doesn’t look tired any more, he doesn't look sad, or hopeful, or needy and his clothes are pretty much perfect again. It's like he's been rewound. Back before any of it started. Dean's still not used to that. Still isn’t sure he likes it. It’s good for Cas though. That he’s all angel-fied again.

Dean's been not touching him now for almost as long as the whole mess they started lasted. But it's a habit his body is stubbornly refusing to break. He wants to touch. He wants to and he can't - won‘t - can‘t. He doesn‘t even fucking know.

He digs his fingers into the sheets.

"So, is that all you came to tell me? Because, dreams are awesome and everything but that's not really cause for a visit at -" he checks the clock "- three in the morning."

Castiel makes a tiny movement, and Dean’s pretty sure he's going to leave, that he's going to fly off to wherever the hell he goes when Dean isn't saying stupid things. He reaches out, all instinct and desperation, catches Castiel before he can disappear. He curls fingers round his arm and he doesn't even mean to hold him so hard. But once he has him he can't let go. How the fuck is he supposed to _not_ do this? He follows Castiel's arm and shoulder, pauses where coat becomes skin and then can't help himself from crossing over that line. He finds the angel's face and the side of his neck. Then he's touching him, touching the warmth of him. Not hard enough to catch because - God - he's half afraid Castiel will slip away if he tries. His thumbs slide over the rough curve of his jaw, the faint noise of it under his skin, and it's familiar enough to make his exhale long and rough. He keeps his touch slow and Castiel doesn‘t resist. But he's wearing his stillness like a shield.

Dean slides closer, mattress making hard noises under the drag of his knees. He watches Castiel's face, because Cas got good at expressions near the end. All flickering moments of want on his face, eyes soft and dark. Dean can't read anything there now, nothing at all.

He’d never realised how much that would hurt.

He’s so fucking _stupid_.

"Cas." His voice sounds like three in the morning, all empty wreck that knows how to be honest. He gets his fingers up under Castiel's shirt, finds bare skin and gets lost in the search for more of it, pushing white cotton up and away until he can spread his hands on the angel's back. He finds the shallow dip where his fingertips meet, presses them in like he can hold the angel there.

And there's finally, finally a flicker of something. Castiel's mouth opens, lids falling slightly over his eyes. Like he remembers too.

"Dean." Castiel's voice sounds exactly the same.

Dean swallows a stupid flare of hope.

"Stay," he says quietly. Because he wants Castiel in here with him, strong and quietly demanding, warm and familiar. He wants him to fill that empty space. "Please."

He's pretty sure he'd deserve it, if Castiel said no. If he decided to punish him for sending him away - no not sending him away just cutting through whatever they had. Through the thing that had made him feel vulnerable in a way that grated across every nerve but that he couldn't stop. Wordless and unexplained but there, coloured in and real. Maybe too real.

Castiel is still quiet. An almost aggressive quiet, and Dean thinks maybe he is being punished because he doesn't know how to say any of this - can't say any of this without it coming out wrong.

"I was wrong," Dean admits. It's too quiet but it's there, it's out there and he can't take it back. It's honest and he thinks maybe it's a little bit shaky and Castiel has gone very still. "I want you here. I need you here, Cas."

He takes a breath and pulls, just a little, on the slender warmth of the angel's wrist and the curve of his waist. Hoping like hell that Castiel won't say no.

He doesn't, he leans down in the darkness, lets Dean catch at his hair and pull him down all the way.

He tastes like the cold of outside. But it's not the same. He's heavier, tighter, like he's holding himself carefully together. Braced somewhere behind the skin where Dean can't reach him. He's an angel wrapped in flesh again.

This is Castiel with all his power restored. He's filled up to the brim again and Dean doesn't know if everything they went through will still matter, if they can still do this. He doesn't know if he has a right any more. But he takes while he can, he can't not take. Can't help himself because he's missed this. He's fucking missed this so badly.

Castiel makes a low calming noise and Dean realises he's been murmuring words against his mouth. Barely knows what - hears the dragged out tail of a breath.

" - don't go."

"I won't," Castiel promises, and finally settles into his hands. Angel tautness going out of him, until he feels soft and warm and real again. The way Dean remembers.

He stays.

  



End file.
